Drive-by Nuns (and the Lizardman)

Okay, so it all started out with a simple joke. I drew some parallel between nuns and penguins. Just an innocent joke. I thought it was funny. I got a few e-mails from a group of angry nuns. I was thinking, what could they possibly do? They're nuns, right? So I posted another joke. A drunk guy walks out of a bar and sees a nun on the sidewalk near the bar. He walks up and punches her out cold. He looks down, points his finger at her, and says, "Not so tough now, are ya Batman?" Now THAT's funny. Or so I thought.

What began as an innocent joke turned into a life of terror for me. The first shot was a warning. I was on my way to Walmart. I'm walking through the parking lot, and there they were - drive-by nuns. It was terrifying! Being that they were in those nun garments - those ninja warriors of the cloth - I figured they surely couldn't outrun me. I ran through Walmart, and I was pretty sure I lost them. Sure enough, no trace of nuns anywhere. I headed back to my car, and I was fumbling for my keys. There they were, popped outta nowhere with brooms in hand. Ever get pelted by a group of nuns? It just ain't good. When I came to, I filed a report with the Federal Bureau of Investigations (or NBA for short), and apparently this is a group called Nuns With Guns. So I guess I'm lucky to be alive, but I wanted to make a retraction right here, officially: nuns are not penguins. Okay, I said it. Now please stop the beatings, ladies. I said my hail Mary's. No more nun jokes. Nun. I mean, none. I promise.

With that out of the way, they say truth is often stranger than fiction. They also say that fiction is even more strangerer. In the South (of course), there is a lot of talk going on about some sinister thing called the Lizardman. Not to be confused with that tatooed guy at Ozzfest. I first read about this creature in a very reliable magazine - The National Enquirer. Right by the Wolfbaby, there it was, an article about this Lizardman. Apparently some girl was pregnant with the Lizardman's baby. (I also had no idea that NASA was using jackelopes to pilot the space shuttles. Who knew? But that would be better for another blog.)

Well, if that wasn't trustworthy enough, another girl showed up on the Jerry Springer show making a similar claim. (If it's on TV, it's gotta be FACT, right?) So apparently, this is becoming a problem, and the NBA is powerless to do anything about it. I'm wondering how much back child support this guy owes, 'cause apparently this kind of thing has been going on for a while. (Or maybe he made a nun joke and was forced into hiding. Who knows?) But the ladies apparently love him.

In the meantime, being that it was on TV and all, I suspect that some Darwinist will see the episode and the Lizardman will be entered into school textbooks probably as the missing link. (Darwinists don't need proof or facts - they are way too smart for that.) And Lord knows, once something makes it into a textbook, it is absolute truth, even if it conflicts with scientific fact. This is America. We're WAY too smart to question stuff, especially when it's all laid out for us. Just sayin'. So if you happen to find your kid running home from school asking questions about the Lizardman, you heard it here first. Lock your doors. Wear your lizardman repellent. Be safe. And good night!!

"An Internet Love Story"

Normally, Fridays pass so quickly, but today it seemed to last forever. Alas! Work was finally over!! I rushed home through the traffic with a sense of anticipation, for tonight was to be the big night. Oh yes!! She and I were going to meet in person! The big day! I pulled in the driveway, quickly paced up the steps, and hopped on my computer. I opened my e-mail, and there it was. The big invitation. I was so excited. Her name was Frenchie, and based on the picture and the info she sent me, she was perfect. Almost too perfect, I had thought. 5' 6, shapely figure, gorgeous dark brown eyes, and mysterious dark hair. It perfectly matched what I had described on the match site. From what she had said in our many conversations, she was: 1) a model, 2) a scientist, and 3) a radiologist. I didn't know how someone who was so brilliant and multi-talented came across my path, but here she was. She gave me directions to her summer cottage. I hopped in the shower and quickly headed her way.

In about 20 minutes, I was almost there. I followed the directions and turned down the bumpy dirt road until I noticed a trailer at the end. The address matched the address she had given me, so I walked on up. As I approached the door, there was a sign that read, "Come in, but don't steal anything." I tapped on the door and in I went.

As I entered the mobile home, I was taken by the decor. The way she managed to match the curtains with the stuffed moose head above the mantle was utterly amazing. Brilliant! "Hello?" I said. A voice came from down the hallway, "Make yourself at home!" Her voice was much deeper than I had imagined, and she had what sounded like an Amish or Danish accent. [Note: for those in question, the Amish are a group of people from up North, with funny suits and goatees. Kinda like grunge musicians at the MTV music awards. A Danish is something you eat, or something like that. With me so far? Okay.]

She finally made her way down the hall. She looked, uh, slightly different from the picture she had sent. Pretty much in every way. Her blonde hair looked nothing like the brunette picture she had sent me, but with those noticeable chin hairs she had, I knew she would do well working in any fine American cafeteria. Her unibrow drew immediate attention to her lovely green eyes. You just knew this would be that special girl you'd want to stand behind while in the mosh pit at a heavy metal concert. I wouldn't say she was cross-eyed, but when she cried (later that night), the tears rolled down her back. The doctors called her condition 'backtearia'. "By the way, my name is Olga," she said. Ah.

She had prepared an amazing dinner, complete with baked possum meatloaf covered with Corn Flakes. After dinner, we had a wonderful conversation about our passions and where we were heading in life. But it finally occured to me that she and I might not be meant for each other. After all, I wanted to pursue writing and psychology, and she wanted to wrestle alligators one day. So we knew it was not meant to be. Sadly, I turned to head down to my car, and I heard her say, "Wait!" I turned to face her. "Here. Meatloaf for the road," she said, handing me a Tupperware container covered in aluminum foil.

To this day, sometimes while watching Olympic gator-wrestling on C-span, my wondering thoughts will return to my beloved Olga. Or was that Frenchie? Who knows?

[Note: there were no animals harmed in the making of this story... unless you count the possum, but they aren't exactly the most gifted of God's creatures. And they're about as useless as scented toilet paper.]

[La fin.]

I wrote this back in the early 90's, after only a couple hours of sleep. I decided to repost it (revising very little of it) in hopes of sharing some humor. And because some people tend to personalize things or take it upon themselves to find a reason to NOT LAUGH, let me say, this was in no way intended to hurt anyone, nor is it directed at anyone. So just suck it up and laugh a little. ;)